up there in the air
by scntlla
Summary: she was one step closer to heaven. (Day 5 of #marihildaweek on twitter. Prompt: Goddess Tower)


The people, lights, and voices were too much at once. Marianne tried her best to stomach the atmosphere, avoid the crowds, and survive the party which was a much-needed celebration in full. It was the night following the White Heron Cup, and much more casual than the semi-formal event had been. And even though Raphael offered her a drink, Marianne knew better than to try something that had been sitting out for so long.

When the laughter rose to a fever pitch below her, she knew she had made the right decision. It was hot and sweaty down there, in the dining hall and reception especially, but the entire monastery seemed to squeal in delight. Even though the Goddess would disapprove of such rowdiness, the students were forgiven, as they lost themselves to good intentions and excitement.

And some smelly, drunken mix of the two. Marianne scrunched her nose at the thought, and drew her knees closer to her chest.

She liked it better in the Goddess Tower, anyway.

It was the tall, imposing structure that its namesake implied, and the closest a person could get to Goddess Sothis in the heavens. Normally, it wasn't open to the public, and students were cautioned to not mess around in it. But students are as students have been, and over time the tower was used as a popular place for confessions and make-outs. It's said that two people who meet up in the Goddess Tower will find happiness together, as the Goddess looks upon them with grace and realizes their feelings in full. Or they fall madly in love, long enough to hook up after graduation, and settle for each other until they die.

Granted, Mercedes' retelling of the story differed greatly from Sylvain's. Marianne regretted asking in the first place.

Regardless, she found herself in need of the Goddess now more than ever. Among her many prayers and requests, she often found herself speaking to the Goddess as if she were a normal person—someone who could help her when she was lost, and guide her when she was astray.

Marianne tried not to think about all the death wishes she invoked in her name. "O Goddess up in Heaven," she murmured under her breath. "Why can't I be happy when everyone else is? I-Instead I...I am up here, _alone_. Goddess, why do we live if only to suffer until we die?"

Marianne had much more to inquire, but her words were cut short by an abrupt noise. It was a dull _thud, _like something had fallen from the top shelf, or a chair pushed back into its place too forcefully. A tiny yelp of pain followed the noise—high-pitched and airy—accompanied by a surprising string of insults.

It was Hilda.

Marianne tensed, filled with dread as she watched Hilda's pretty pink head come into view from the spiral staircase. "Marianne?" she asked. "What are you doing up here?"

"...I could ask you the same thing," she insisted. "E-Everyone's having fun downstairs. You ought to do the same, Hilda."

"And _I _could ask _you _the same thing!" Hilda harrumphed as she walked over to Marianne, sliding against the railing of the stairs until she sat on the floor in front of her. "It's lonely up here. Did something happen?"

"I may be lonely but...but I, it's...it's better than being down there. Everywhere downstairs is _loud, _and _hot, _a-and insufferable!" Marianne squeaked beneath the pressure of her own words, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. "...I just...like it better up here, that's all."

"Hmm." Hilda drew her knees up, and clicked the heels of her shoes together, patiently. "That's fine, I totally get you. Someone spiked the punch and everyone's gone crazy, anyway. Claude says it's fine as long as no one gets hurt, but to be honest? He just wants to see how far it'll go until Professor Byleth starts suspending some fools."

Marianne spared a half-giggle at the idea: Claude could scheme up a storm, and while half of him earnestly enjoyed the night like anyone else, the other half used it as an opportunity to listen in on useful conversations, or elicit some intriguing information from the lightweight students. Nothing that would be used deviously, of course, just strategic tips and the like. Blackmail was an asides, or so he said.

Yet another reason Marianne avoided the madness downstairs. "That sounds like Claude, alright. I hope no one gets hurt tonight. May the Goddess protect them."

"..."

Silence. It stayed silent for such a long time, Marianne forgot Hilda was there. She closed her eyes, and listened to the world around her. Wind coming in from the mountains, breezes rattling the trees and echoing through the stone, a pattering of footsteps in the courtyard below her. In the distance, she heard animals: birds flapping their wings, horses neighing, cats meowing, a dog barking at something she couldn't see. Then, closer in, she heard the sound of the tapestries in the lower levels, flying against the windows, their soft fabric _thud-thud-thudding _almost rhythmically.

Lastly, she heard her own breath, escaping from her in tiny snores and exhausted gasps. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, but that wasn't anything new. Only the Goddess could grant her eternal rest, and yet every morning, she awoke to the misery of life—agonizing and tiresome as it was.

Perhaps up here, in the tower, the Goddess could watch her sleep, and she'd have good dreams instead of unending nightmares.

Marianne took notice of more footsteps, louder ones this time, and a flutter of cloth which sounded familiar. Then she felt a vague sensation like flying, but for the life of her, couldn't summon the strength needed to bring herself back to the ground.

She fell into oblivion, dreaming of champagne bubbles in fruity punch, and late night glimmer in youthful eyes.

A vision of pink and blue, rose and gold—beautiful and unending.

Perfect.

.

.

Marianne woke up in her own room. She didn't remember coming down from the tower herself, so part of her wondered if the Goddess pitied her sleeping form, and whisked her away with divine power. Just as she thought that, however, a folded note fell from her lap and onto the floor, blinking itself into existence and reminding her of where she was.

Marianne picked it up and read it.

_Hey Mari! You were out cold so I carried you to your dorm after you fell asleep. Hope that's alright! Next time, let's hang out in a normal place, at a normal time so we don't have to do that again. Or if we have to do it, can we do it on the first floor, instead of the penthouse? My calves and I would appreciate it! _

_Love, Hilda_

She wasn't much for reading between the lines. Marianne was a simple girl with simple values, and if she was instructed to do something, she'd simply do it without thinking too much. No schemes, no excuses, no feelings which inhibited her, except for that of her own mediocrity. And yet, while reading this note, she couldn't resist the complexities that laid in her mind and festered in her heart—remnants of the hopeful person she might have been, years and years ago before knowledge of the curse ruined everything.

Something within her said that Hilda _loved _her, which couldn't be true! She wrote her a letter and to say _Love, Hilda _was the same as _Sincerely, Hilda _or _Always yours, Hilda _or even _Yours in confidence, Hilda. _But love? Hilda loving Marianne, out of all the people in the academy? Was that really allowed?

The answer didn't matter as the letter made no mistake. Hilda's writing was nearly perfect, letters rounded and bouncy, and Marianne reread each one with painstaking closeness, in hopes she'd find a flaw in their curves.

Instead, she found a semblance of hope, and a friend who didn't mind dealing with her inconvenient ways. And if the letter was true, Hilda carried Marianne all the way down the Goddess Tower, _by herself! _The girl always complained about hard work, but lugging an ax all day and swinging into action had to have done something to those appreciative calves of hers.

Marianne dared to smile, and folded the note back into its shape, sliding it into her pocket.

Hoping for a next time.


End file.
